Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10) A. American (read after .txt) 📖

the side of the river was out of sight and the broad slow St Johns was all we could see. Dad stood looking towards Sanford, at the railroad bridge that crossed just upstream. He took it all in. He’d lived here for decades and loved the river and now he was leaving it.

I kept the boat at an idle while he made his peace with leaving. I knew it would be hard on him not having it. Mom too. I saw her wipe tears from her face as she looked back towards where we’d come from. Dad finally sat down, and Mom laid her head on his shoulder. I took it as a sign they were ready and opened the throttle and we started up the river towards Crow’s Bluff.

It was a clear, warm morning. It would be a hot day for certain. But on the river, it was cooler; and the boat racing down the river provided plenty of cooling breeze. I stood, holding onto the handrail as I guided the boat. The river was empty this morning, save the birds and occasional gator that would immediately submerge at the sight or sound of our boat.

I saw Sarge pour the last of his coffee from the thermos into a cup. He took a sip and offered it to Dad, who gladly accepted it and took a long drink. It made me smile. I wondered how Dad’s arrival would affect Sarge’s coffee stores. The two of them easily drank a pot a day, each. I was sure it would prove interesting to say the least.

Sarge took out his radio and made a call. I couldn’t hear him over the motor, but I guessed he was calling the guys to tell them we were on our way. I didn’t much care one way or another. I was enjoying the novelty of the river. Of being in a boat speeding down the slow-moving trail of black water.

Holding the tiller under my arm, I took a pinch from the can in my pocket, then gave it to my dad. He opened it and looked in, it was nearly empty, one pinch left. He closed it and went to hand it back, but I waved him off, telling him to take it. He did, the last pinch of Cope as far as I knew even existed and dropped the empty can in the bottom of the boat.

Then Danny took a can out and opened it. He put a pinch in too and smiled as he showed it was nearly half full. I gave him the finger; the bastard had been taking from mine when he had his own the whole time! He laughed and put the can back in his pocket.

When we got to Lake Beresford, I knew we were almost to the ramp. A sense of both relief and sadness came over me. Relief that we were nearly back but also a lament that we would leave the river and I didn’t know if we’d ever see it again. I could only imagine how Mom and Dad were feeling. Dad knew the river better than I did by a long shot. He knew where we were and where we were going.

As we passed Mud Lake and the bridge over the river came into view, I slowed the boat. There were a few houses along the river here and people were out in skiffs, Jon boats, canoes and kayaks, tending lines, nets or just fishing. All in pursuit of their breakfast.

Pointing to the east side of the river, Danny asked, “What are they doing?”

I looked over to see two men wading in the brown water at the shore. One was dragging a small Jon boat on a lead behind him. Both men rooted around in the mud and from time to time would reach down and pull the large root of a pond lily up and toss it in the boat.

“Looks like they’re harvesting the roots,” I replied.

“You can’t eat that shit,” Dad replied.

“No. you can’t,” Mom echoed. “We tried, there’s no way you can make that edible.”

“Well,” I replied, “you can. You just have to process the shit out of it. Takes a lot of soaking and water changes.”

“Say what you want,” Dad replied, “I don’t think there’s any way to make it edible.” He shook his head and shivered, “stuff’s horrible.”

“Luckily, we don’t have to worry about trying to eat that kind of trash,” Sarge offered. “We’ve got plenty of food. And none of it comes from the bottom of a nasty river.”

“Hey now, leave my river alone,” Dad said with a chuckle.

Sarge smiled. “I know how you feel. I lived on the equally nasty Suwannee and miss it terribly.”

Passing under the highway bridge, the trucks weren’t there yet. I pointed the boat towards the ramp and Danny caught the pole and tied us off. Mom and Dad got out and we followed them up the dock to the overgrown grass lining the seawall. Two old black men sat there with cane poles in hand, their light lines disappearing into the murk of the river.

“Doing any good?” Dad asked.

One of the old men tilted a bucket to show one small catfish. “Not much this mornin’.”

“It’s getting harder.”

“Yes sir, it is.”

The other man looked down at the boat. “That’s a nice boat. Where’d you get the gas, ain’t no gas anywhere.”

“We had some saved up,” I said.

“Y’all waiting on something?”

“Our ride,” Sarge said as he plucked the mic from the plate carrier. He called Ted, who replied immediately that they were a few minutes out.

“You got trucks too?”

Sarge nodded. “We work for the government.”

The first man laughed. “Government! What government? Ain’t no government.”

“There still is some. They’re trying to get things sorted. But there’s a lot that needs to be done.”

Presently, the trucks rumbled over the drawbridge, garnering the attention of the two men fishing. One of them looked up at Sarge and commented, “You wasn’t shittin’ when you said you worked for